Sunday, July 5, 2009

Daddy Made me Cry (sort of)

Zoe was in her first car accident a few weeks ago. Here’s how it went down. The entire family drove to downtown Berkeley for the big Saturday farmers market. Alison decided she needed a walk so she and Calder set off for home with the stroller, and Zoe and I climbed into the Highlander (our big car) and started for home. Halfway back I stopped for a woman at a crosswalk (it’s not just polite, it’s the law!). However, a few seconds after I had come to a full stop, my car was rudely pushed across the crosswalk by a Honda Element that hadn’t noticed I had stopped. Zoe seemed baffled by the sudden movement, was briefly scared, but was completely unharmed (as was everyone else involved). Over the last few weeks there has been a lot of car activity, and whenever I mention my car now she will swing her arm and say, “Bump.” I will nod yes. Then she will say, “Wah, wah,” because she cried briefly. I will tell her that yes, she cried, but only a little. So, from this point forward, whenever anything having to do with my car is mentioned, she will remind me that I was in an accident that made her cry.

I tried to teach Zoe jumping jacks recently. It was very cute, with all her limbs flailing about somewhat randomly. And while Zoe is generally pretty coordinated, jumping jacks are the exercise equivalent of patting your head while rubbing your tummy. Zoe balances in all sorts of uneven spots, such as on top of me, and she can’t walk down a set up steps without hopping on the last step (it’s a rule that she can only hop on the last step—the steps to our house meander, so there are seven last steps). However, sometimes the smallest thing will trip her up. Tonight she landed face down after tripping on an empty (and crushed) egg carton (that she had pulled out of the recycle bag and left in the middle of the floor). And although she can almost walk across the length of a balance beam at gymnastics, she can’t walk across our living room floor without tripping on one of her toys. Actually, the more I think about it, I can’t walk cross our living room floor with tripping. Maybe ‘Traversing a Toy Strewn Floor’ should be an Olympic event?

Zoe’s most recent phrase is, “Daddy, see me,” often followed by, “See more.” She will then do a little dance, or hop, or do a summersault, or throw a ball, or bounce on her new yard sale acquired trampoline (a subject of a future injury-related blog I’m sure). Basically ‘see me’ is her method of grabbing me away from whatever I happen to be doing at the moment that is not Zoe related. If I’m playing with her, but briefly turn to say something to Alison, I will hear ‘see me’. When Zoe says ‘see me’ it mean right now, or risk her repeating it ad nauseum, and at an increasing volume. If I were performing CPR on the President, who just happened to stop by and has a heart attack in my living room, I would have to pause to watch Zoe do a little jig if she chose that moment to say see me. So to all you people out there, see me write this blog!

Visit the Calder Chronicle for more exciting stories from the home front.

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